


Proposal

by Nebulad



Series: Run With the Hare || Hunt With the Hounds [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Injury, M/M, Proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theros was pressed against his chest, catching his breath and trying to memorise what it felt like to be in Dorian’s arms. He was strong from staffwork, but his touch was feather light— some of that subtlety that he’d assured Theros he didn’t have. He idled with Theros’ too-long hair, occasionally leaning down to press a kiss against his head. Maker, he didn’t even have a book that he was distracting himself with; the Inquisitor had his undivided attention.</p><p>“Are you awake, <i>amatus?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Proposal

Theros was upset that Dorian hadn’t told him that he was returning to Tevinter— for good, forever, and without him— until the mage reminded him in a rather spectacular way that he was not the only one skirting around the truth. In true Dorian fashion, he had to rip Theros’ goddamn heart out of his chest in one grand gesture— well, not so grand. Grand in deed and less in presentation, which was what made it so… _so._ Theros had come to expect theatrics, and during such a trying time as the Exalted Council and possibly the last they would see of each other for… _Maker_ , too long… he’d expected Dorian to go overboard in all things.

Theros was pressed against his chest, catching his breath and trying to memorise what it felt like to be in Dorian’s arms. He was strong from staffwork, but his touch was feather light— some of that subtlety that he’d assured Theros he didn’t have. He idled with Theros’ too-long hair, occasionally leaning down to press a kiss against his head. Maker, he didn’t even have a book that he was distracting himself with; the Inquisitor had his undivided attention.

“Are you awake, _amatus?”_ he asked, sounding foggy. Apparently his role as an ambassador was shockingly involved, considering both Orlais and Ferelden’s hatred for the Imperium.

“ _S_ í,” he mumbled, trying not to fall asleep. The diplomatic meetings alone were a nightmare, so he could only imagine how much sleep he’d get once the Council began in earnest.

“Marry me.” It took all of Theros’ willpower to stay still instead of tensing up. “Now I know this is unexpected and all, but I… I wanted _something._ I’m just going to disappear after the Council and I wanted to show you that I’m still very serious about us.”

“I didn’t doubt you,” he murmured.

“And perhaps I’m a little selfish anyway. No matter what you decide for the Inquisition you’re still going to be a sought after sort of person. I thought a long time about if I’d rather suffer through a little invasion of privacy or the thought of Thedas still thinking you’re a bachelor simply because I haven’t bothered to marry you.”

Theros’ heart was pounding too hard. “You know I would never—”

“Yes, I know. And if the answer is no then that’s _fine,_ I just… it was just important for you to know that I was willing to ask,” he assured him, and Theros simply… continued to stay still. It was his dream come fucking true, of course— he would have never asked Dorian himself because for all the theatrics and the teasing, _he_ was the one that wasn’t comfortable with people seeing them. He had his reasons and Theros was completely satisfied with their current arrangement— they were no secret even if they were private— but… the answer was no. It had to be no.

He couldn’t make Dorian a widow.

He was thinking about his hand which meant that of course it _hurt,_ and he took it from Dorian without thinking of what it seemed like. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” the mage began with that sort of insecurity in his voice that gutted him.

“No, that isn’t it,” he insisted, sitting up. He just had to get through this without a flare up— in public they were usually fine, because Theros had taken to wearing gloves. Dorian couldn’t _see_ when the mark burned, but now they weren’t wearing anything and if Theros lost control of the pitiful amount of magic he possessed, then he was good and rightly fucked. The absolute worst answer to a proposal was _I’m dying._ “Dorian, I…” He started the sentence but his mind was blank.

“Listen, you don’t have to formulate a polite refusal. I told you it’s fine,” he said, leaning on his shoulder.

“It _isn’t,”_ because it _wasn’t,_ because there was nothing more Theros would ever want in his life than to be tied to Dorian for the rest of it. Vana always said that he was confusing in that sense— for all his sneaking and dodging and talking round about people, he was so loyal in love that it was almost embarrassing. Traditional as a proper lord, marriage was something he’d always wanted and marriage to Dorian was even sweeter because his whole world could be condensed neatly into five people: his mother, his sisters, Sera, and _amatus_ (which Dorian always told him he pronounced wrong).

“It _is,”_ the mage said firmly, trying to get him to lay down again. “I’m more than happy with you no matter what the arrangement happens to be.” Theros’ fucking heart hurt because he was ruining this. Something so significant for both of them and he was wrecking it because he was lying about—

“ _Fuck,”_ he barked, grabbing his wrist as the mark flared. It’d never hurt badly enough before to be distracting, but at the moment it suddenly felt like it was peeling back his fingernails. He swore more, continuously, until Dorian grabbed his wrist and shot a bolt of healing into him. There was one hard burst in reaction to the magic, and then it went quiet.

“What… just happened?” Dorian asked, his grip still white knuckled on Theros’ wrist.

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I got worked up,” he tried, his gut shrivelling with the lie. He leaned in to kiss Dorian’s cheek but was promptly stopped.

“No, that isn’t how this _works._ I’ve spent a significant amount of time around your hands and I can say with complete confidence that it doesn’t react when you’re upset,” he said firmly, his voice the one of a Circle Mage that was endlessly smarter than Theros was. He shifted because… well usually he was very fond of smart Dorian. Now it was inconvenient. “You’re hiding something,” he said, and _that_ voice was a man who knew his lover was lying to him about something bad.

“It isn’t anything, _amor,_ I promise. It’s just a stress reaction,” he assured him, stroking back his hair. Dorian was really terribly pretty, even when he was giving Theros a _look_ that meant he wasn’t buying a goddamn thing.

“Then why are you saying _no?”_ he asked, and Theros… really needed to be more into stupid men. Everything would be so much easier if Dorian were a fool who believed everything he said.

“I don’t want to say no,” he offered quietly.

“But that’s what you’re saying. Because of your hand?” He pulled it back over to him like he could read it for answers like Solas had. “Is it… has it gotten bad? I thought it was under control.”

“It is,” he lied.

“Maker’s Breath would you stop? I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on.” Theros was always shattered by that little vulnerable crack in his voice, reaching out to pull him against his chest. “Just tell me,” he insisted, pushing back to stay eye level with him.

“There’s nothing to tell, Dorian, I swear. I don’t know why it’s happening but it’s nothing to worry about.” He didn’t know that it _wasn’t_ true, so did it count as lying? “I… I wanted to say yes,” that was true, “I only—”

Dorian sighed and waved him off. “Lie. You lie too much.” He didn’t seem averse to touching yet, so perhaps Theros’ lies were safe for the moment. Dorian was smart, but love made as much a fool of him as it did the Inquisitor. “We’re getting it checked in the morning,” he warned.

“After the Council begins?” he asked and Dorian groaned.

“I forgot about that— yes, I suppose, otherwise no one will be up to do the checking. I can hardly take your word for it though, considering what you know of magic wouldn’t fill a thimble.” It was a joke but it landed badly because for all that Dorian was willing to play as if it were a mystery what would happen if Theros’ mark lost control, as if there were ever any doubt that his hand was going to eat him alive… he knew.

“I know that it looks very good when you cast it.” He was trying for a laugh and Dorian gave him a fleeting smile instead. Theros was right. _Dying_ was the worst response to a proposal that he could possibly think of.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) where you can watch me ask for prompts and then write something entirely different. The mere presence of prompts seems to inspire me idfk what it is but I save them all and even eventually fill them. Anyway here's this, that went through a thousand more fun, peppy versions in my head before settling on this. In the first version Theros was supposed to beg Vana to get him a ring from one of the nobles to propose with. #shenanigans, but idk this happened instead.


End file.
